


After The Carousel

by ysse_writes



Category: The Thief Lord, Thief Lord (2006)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-12
Updated: 2011-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-23 16:43:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ysse_writes/pseuds/ysse_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Events after the movie (or book).</p><p>Written for RagnarokSkurai in the New Year Resolutions 2007 Challenge</p>
            </blockquote>





	After The Carousel

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters and situations of THE THIEF LORD belong to Cornelia Funke and her publishers. They have been used without permissions, with no mean intent and no desire for remuneration.
> 
> Warnings: slash, Scipio/Prosper. In the movie Scipio is mentioned as "almost 16" and I presume Prosper is also around that age. If you've seen the movie or read the book you know that while the boys start being around the same age, they aren't by the end of the book. No sex happens in this story (sorry) but if you are squeamish about (technically) underage boys being more than just friends with (not-quite-technically) adults, then you may not want to read this.

 

 

It occurred to Prosper, belatedly, as he watched the Thief Lord walk away, broad-shouldered and distant, that there were things he would have liked to have been able to say to Scipio. Things like:  _I did trust you, I'm sorry I didn't tell you_  and  _thank you, for helping us, for taking care of us, for trying to protect us_  and  _I couldn't come with you, but I really wanted to, I wish you'd just stayed but I understand why you couldn't._  And, perhaps, most important of all:  _I wish we really could have been a family._  

It was too late now, Prosper thought. Scipio was a grown-up and it was Prosper's experience that grown-ups rarely cared about such things.

 

 

"Stop pouting," Scipio said, as he carefully lifted the casserole out of the oven. "This wasn't my idea, you know." 

Prosper kept silent, refusing to be baited, only continued to scowl as he finished making the salad. He just needed to get through dinner, he decided. Then he fully intended to drag Bo off to their bedroom and escape. 

Okay, not escape. Escape was not the word. He wasn't planning to escape because he wasn't afraid. And he wasn't pouting, either. 

Bad enough, Prosper thought, that it was the housekeeper's week off and Ida had to suddenly go off with Victor to God knows where. But then, for Ida to decide that Prosper, Hornet, and Bo still needed a babysitter. At their age! He wasn't a child, for heaven's sake, and he was perfectly capable of taking care of his little brother. Hadn't he done it for months, with no help from anyone? He was certainly capable of doing it for a night, particularly when they were staying in a perfectly warm house in a perfectly safe neighborhood. But the worst thing of all, to offhandedly announce that Scipio, of all people, was to be that babysitter. Scipio! Who was, after all, technically, chronologically, practically the same age as Prosper! 

The Thief Lord shrugged. "At least Bo is happy I'm here," he said, grinning to the little boy who was happily arranging the dinner rolls into the breadbasket. "I'm glad he still likes me, at least."

"Prop's happy," Bo said. "He's just not very good at smiling. Not like me, see?" Bo grinned widely in demonstration.

Prosper spared a moment to glower at his traitorous little brother, who only kept beaming back at him.  _Bo likes everyone,_ thought Prosper, spitefully.  _And him liking you is not significant or indicative that you are, in any way, special._

"Are the two of you arguing again?" Mosca asked, entering the kitchen with Riccio and Hornet hot on his heels. "Honestly, you two!" 

"Save it for later," said Riccio. "The table's set and I'm starving!" 

"All right, then," said Scipio, leading them all back out to the dining room. "Let's eat!" 

 

 

The Thief Lord came for dinner every second Friday; Ida insisted and Victor laughed that Scipio was far too well brought up to argue with a lady on the street. On those nights, they would have dinner later than usual, allowing time for the two detectives to finish up and present themselves in appropriate attire. Bo would be allowed to stay up if he finished his schoolwork, which Ida always forgot to ask about. Ida tried not to spoil Bo too much, but Prosper had borne the brunt of that angelic face and soulful puppy eyes for years and knew just how hard it was to say no to Bo when he really wanted something, or just how massive the explosion of love would be when Bo would beam with happiness, the potency of Bo's smile, whenever he got his way. 

As long as Bo was happy, thought Prosper, he could take anything. Even the dubious pleasure of the Thief Lord's company.

It wasn't that he hated the other boy -- man, now, really. There was a time when Prosper believed that Scipio was a true friend, that they had a unique understanding. He didn't think that the ride on the carousel would change that, but of course it had. 

It didn't seem like Scipio hated him, either, but each time they crossed paths the young detective was always coolly distant, uninterested, always too busy or too distracted or needing to be someplace else, talking to someone else, like Prosper wasn't really worthy of his time or attention.

It couldn't be helped, thought Prosper. The Thief Lord was a grown-up now and, like most grown-ups, he wanted nothing to do with children like them.

Or, more specifically, with  _him_. Scipio still seemed to like Bo and Hornet well enough.

That first time they'd met, after the carousel, Prosper had been utterly confused by the way Scipio ignored him, had brushed aside his attempts at conversation. He'd thought then that Scipio was still angry that he didn't go on the carousel with him, had let him go alone. There hadn't really been time to explain his decision back then, but Prosper had thought there'd be time later. But the days passed and Scipio continued to ignore him, and Prosper really wasn't one to run after people who obviously wanted nothing to do with him. 

Prosper became busy, too, in his own way--with school, with making new friends, with Bo, who, if it was all possible, grew more energetic and gregarious with each passing day. 

At the table, Scipio would dine finely, elegantly, which somehow always managed to infuriate Prosper. It always had, Prosper knew, from that very first night they first met--Scipio with his fine cloak and elegant manners, making Prosper feel all the more scruffy and unwashed. In return, Prosper would slurp his soup and chew his beef with his mouth open, just to make a point. Bo, thinking it hilarious, would mimic him exaggeratedly as Hornet--who now preferred to be called Caterina--would look horribly embarrassed by them both. Scipio would laugh, but it was just like Ida and Victor's laugh, a grown-up laughing at children's antics, which only infuriated Prosper more. 

Prosper always considered himself well brought up also, but did not always succeed in resisting the urge to kick Scipio under the table. Scipio would look at him then. The first few times, he looked confused. Then annoyed, which Prosper considered a victory, of sorts. Lately, though, Scipio had been getting this strange look in his eyes, giving him this odd smile before turning back to Bo, or back to Hornet, or whoever or whatever had been holding his attention before Prosper kicked him, and Prosper was back to feeling like a child being condescended to by a grown-up--awkward and petty.

The thing was, Prosper missed his friend, but never more than when Scipio was actually around. They'd spend very little time together- only a few days, when you thought about it, and such strange full days they had been--but every moment seemed etched into his memory. Scipio, the Thief Lord that Prosper had met back then, had left, was gone forever, as surely and as permanently as Scipio's mother, and there was no way of getting him back. 

Except Prosper could still see him sometimes, catch the odd echo of his friend's swagger, his friend's smile, every now and again.

For some reason, this made him feel unbearably lonely.

 

 

It had been a glorious evening, all things considered. Riccio and Mosca came knocking on the door practically on the heels of Scipio's arrival. They brought cakes and sweets for dessert, protesting very loudly when Scipio insisted on a proper meal first. They protested even more loudly when they were given the task of setting the table, but Hornet had bullied them into submission. Just like old times, Prosper thought.

Scipio had been horribly teased for cooking but had borne it good-naturedly. He was enjoying it, he said, having to take care of himself. They'd always had a housekeeper, an army of maids, and it was very empowering (or so he said) to know that he wouldn't die from starvation or be found eaten by rats. Hopefully.

It was the first time, Prosper realized, that he had seen Scipio look so carefree. At the same time, this only emphasized the fact that it really was only Prosper that Scipio kept at a distance. He supposed it only made sense. Riccio, Mosca and Hornet had been his friends long before Prosper and Bo ever came into the picture. 

Afterwards, they had all sat around the living room, playing cards as Riccio and Mosca regaled them with tales of their grand exploits as free men of Venice, living by their wits while dodging the police and all manner of shady characters. Mosca's father had yet to return--or be found--but the two boys remained in high spirits and seemed to be enjoying themselves. The two never really allowed themselves to be comfortable with Ida the way Bo and Hornet had, preferring to be independent, and for the most part kept out of Victor's sight. Prosper knew, however, from the messages they managed to send him and the occasional mention from Scipio, that Scipio continued to watch out for the boys. 

When Bo started yawning but stubbornly refused to go to bed, it was decided that they would all have a sleepover. Beds were stripped of their blankets and pillows, the linen closet raided. They made camp in the living room with makeshift tents and oversized pillows for mattresses. Scipio opted for the sofa, stating that he had never really slept over at the Stella anyway, and doing so now would only ruin the effect.

"You don't have to stay," Prosper insisted, as he helped Scipio bring out extra linens. "I'm sure Ida and Victor will be back soon. Besides, you, of all people, should know that we're perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves." 

"Back then we didn't have a choice, none of us did," Scipio said. "Things are different now. Besides, Ida would have my head if I left you guys alone."

"And suddenly you're so responsible, so respectable?" Prosper demanded, irritably. "I thought that was the last thing you wanted. You used to be the fun one! Why, you're well on your way to being the dodgy stuffed shirt your father wanted you to be!"

Scipio looked horrified. "Oh, good Lord, surely not?" His eyes were twinkling.

"You're laughing at me again," Prosper said, managing not to sound as petulant as he felt. "Just because you're taller than I am these days--"

"I've always been taller than you, dear Prop," Scipio said, laughing. It was an old argument. "But you're right, I'm a doddering old man now and doddering old men shouldn't be spending time with pretty teenaged boys."

"I'm not pretty," Prosper protested, offended.

"Still, I'd like to stay," continued Scipio. "I'm having fun." He looked at Prosper. "I've missed this, missed you guys. Haven't you?"

 _Then maybe you shouldn't have acted like such an arse all these months,_ Prosper almost said, but Scipio's quiet tone stopped him. Instead, he shrugged and went ahead to the living room to finish setting up his and Bo's sleeping area.

 

 

Bo fell asleep almost immediately but the rest of them talked, deep into the night. Reminiscing about past adventures, catching up on what the others have been up to, their mad plans for the future. Prosper didn't really have any plans, and even if he did he figured they'd be too boring to share. Instead, he simply listened at the exchanges, occasionally interjecting with a crack or a comment. They kept their voices low, so as not to wake Bo, but there were times that the voices and the laughter rose, and the shushing became even louder than the laughter.

Hornet asked Scipio the most questions. Questions about living alone, about his work as a detective. 

She was growing, too, Prosper thought. She was 'at that age,' as Ida constantly put it. Growing up, growing apart. She was in a hurry, too, it felt like. Scipio should have asked her instead, Prosper thought.  _Would_  have asked her, perhaps, if only she hadn't been in police custody. 

Hornet, Prosper knew, would have gone with Scipio had he asked.

The night grew deeper and one by one the voices tapered off as Riccio, Mosca, and Hornet also fell asleep. 

Prosper could see Scipio lying on the sofa and knew, somehow, that the Thief Lord was still awake, perhaps as reluctant to end the evening as he was. Something about the dimmed lights, the afterglow of the laughter and the even breathing filling the room made him forget his anger, made him feel comfortable and brave. "Were you right?" he asked, quietly. "Is it better this way?"

Scipio remained silent and for a moment Prosper thought he wasn't going to answer. 

"In some ways, I suppose," Scipio answered, finally. "Some things are easier, some things are harder. Some things look very small to me now and some things have become so huge I can no longer look at them for very long when I used to stare at them for hours. Grown-ups are afraid of very different things than children, I've found."

"Such as?"

"Heights." Prosper could tell by his voice that Scipio was grinning.

Prosper blinked. "Heights?" he asked, skeptical.

"Heights," agreed Scipio. "Heights and fat and half an hour of dark and silence in between two and three o'clock in the morning. And growing old."

"The Thief Lord afraid of heights?" scoffed Prosper. "And if you were afraid of growing old you would never have gone on the carousel."

"I told you," Scipio said. "I was afraid of other things then."

"I thought the entire point of becoming a grown-up was to stop being afraid."

Scipio laughed. Prosper had never realized before how much deeper Scipio's voice had gotten. "So did I."

"What else are grown-ups afraid of?" Prosper asked, but what he really wanted to ask was:  _Would you take it back, if you could? Would you come back?_ "What else is different?"

"Feelings, I suppose," answered Scipio. "The things you want, for the most part, remain the same. But why you want them, how you want them. What seems possible, what you believe. I used to think anything would be possible, once I was grown up."

"And now?"

Prosper turned so he could see the Thief Lord better. Scipio was lying straight, looking up at the darkened ceiling.

"I used to feel so alone," said Scipio, his voice falling lower, softer, than it had already been. "My mother left, did you know that? I was left behind, too. My mother did not care enough to stay or to take me with her. I was always alone."

"That isn't true," protested Prosper. 

"Even when I found Riccio, Mosca and Hornet," continued Scipio. "To them, I was never anything but Scipio, the Thief Lord, their benefactor. I stole from my father's house because I was angry, because the things were there for the taking, wasted, because things were always more important to him than my mother, than myself." Prosper saw Scipio glance his way. "It got better, after they came. I felt like I was their father, and I was a better father than mine ever was, I thought. I finally had a family." His voice hardened. "And they were coming to take it away. "

"Bo is my family," Prosper said, "and we take care of each other. It didn't all have to fall on you."

"I had it all wrong, then?"

Prosper smiled. "Not all of it."

"And now you are safe, all of you," Scipio said, his tone wistful. "None of you need me anymore. And I am as alone as I ever was."

"That's not right, either," said Proper. "Why would you even think that?"

"I  _feel_  alone," said Scipio. "Alone, and separated from all of you, when I did this because I wanted to prevent that very thing."

 _Then why stay away so much?_ Prosper wanted to ask.  _Why act like you couldn't care less about us?_

"I used to think it was taking forever for me to grow up," Scipio said. "That I would die of impatience. And I found a way around that. Now I'm grown up and I still can't have what I want."

"What do you want?" Prosper asked.

Again it took Scipio a while to answer. "I always thought grown-ups didn't have feelings," Scipio said, slowly. "But now I think that they are simply afraid of them."

"That doesn't make sense," Prosper said. "What do you mean?"

"I don't think I can tell you."

"That makes even less sense," Prosper said. "Or do you think I'm too young to understand? Now that you're all grown up and mighty?"

Scipio's grin was visible even in the dim light, but when he answered his voice seemed self-mocking. "There were things I could tell you then, dear Prosper, that I can not tell you now. It's not that I don't think you won't understand, it's that I'm unwilling to let them out in the world now. Things that seemed simple then--clear, possible, even certain--seem as intangible as mist now."

Scipio afraid of uncertainty? "You can't possibly have changed that much," Prosper said.

Scipio laughed again. "That's just the problem, dear boy," Scipio answered. "I wish I had. I wish I had forgotten everything, left all these feelings behind."

Prosper smiled, sadly. "I would have thought you'd be wiser now, be more careful of wishes."

Prosper heard Scipio sigh. 

"You were always so much wiser than I."

Prosper didn't think he would fall asleep, his senses as heightened as they were, but of course he did. It occurred to him, sometime before he drifted off, that he actually was glad that Scipio had come, that he was actually happy, something he never really thought he would be again. How strange that he didn't realize it sooner.

 

 

He woke up to the smell of coffee, unfamiliar in this house as Ida preferred tea and bullied Victor into drinking it as well. For a moment Prosper thought he was back at home, back in those days when his mother was still alive, and this was the exact same smell he would wake up to, the same sounds. His mother making breakfast in the kitchen, Bo sitting in his high chair and waiting for his toast, or his pancakes, or whatever the brat was in the mood for that day. Bo was spoiled, really, by everyone who knew him.

The breeze coming from the open French windows was cool and he smiled before he realized it.

He found Scipio on the veranda, feet up, watching the waters and the gondolas, and Prosper took a minute to observe him in turn.

Scipio's hair was shorter now. Victor said it was easier to change disguises that way, although Scipio never really did develop that love for disguises. He must've been up to a while now, because he'd obviously showered, shaved, and the short hair and lack of stubble made him seem young again, like the Scipio of old, when they were both young and friends and hadn't just spent the last year avoiding eye contact with each other.

"You shouldn't drink that," Prosper said, finally. "It'll stunt your growth."

Prosper knew Scipio was smiling, even before the Thief Lord turned to look at him, eyes crinkled at the corners, looking sleepy and content. It occurred to Prosper that he hadn't seen Scipio smile like that in a while either, not since the early days of their friendship, before the truth of Scipio's identity was discovered. It reminded Prosper once more of just how little time he had actually known Scipio, how few memories he actually had of the other boy. But now here he was, looking like he did back then, young and touchable, not grown-up and distant.

The others were still asleep. Bo could sleep through anything and Prosper could hear Riccio and Mosca snoring away. 

"Ida and Victor came back a few hours ago," Scipio reported. "I told them to go to bed, that I'd see to breakfast."

"Back to being responsible?" Prosper asked. "It doesn't really suit you." He squinted at the sky outside, then at the watch on his wrist. "I can take care of breakfast. It's early. Bo won't be up for a while yet. And I'm betting the others won't be, either."

"And you're back to not being able to wait to get rid of me," said Scipio, the lazy smile gone. "It's just as well." He put his feet down and stood up. "Tell the others goodbye for me."

Prosper grabbed his hand. "I didn't mean it that way," he said. "I didn't mean you had to leave. I only meant you didn't have to make breakfast. I'm perfectly capable of--"

Scipio wrenched his hand out of Prosper's grasp. "If I were you, Prosper," said Scipio, his voice cool, "I would stop constantly harping on how grown up I am. It isn't really helping."

This confused Prosper, but Scipio's tone was sufficiently chill that he shut up. For a moment. 

"I'm trying to be nice," he said, lamely.

"That isn't going to help, either," said Scipio, and walked away.

 

 

"Someone ought to do something, don't you think?"

Prosper looked up from his book to see Hornet looking at him expectantly. "What?" he asked. He hadn't really been listening. 

"Honestly, Prop, I wish you'd pay attention," Hornet said, exasperatedly. "This is important."

"All right," he said. 

"So what are we going to do?"

"About what?"

"Scipio!"

Prosper blinked. "Scipio?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake. I know Ida and Victor were keeping their voices low so Bo wouldn't hear, but I thought, at least that you were listening and just pretending you weren't so Bo wouldn't be suspicious."

Hornet could be really confusing sometimes, Prosper thought.

"Hornet--"

"Caterina," she corrected.

"Caterina," he repeated, "what are you talking about?"

"Scipio's leaving."

"What?"

"That's what Ida and Victor were whispering about," continued Hornet. "Victor said that Scip gave... what-you-call-it? Notice. Because he was leaving." Hornet shook her head. "It doesn't make sense, where would he go?"

"He always wanted to travel," Prosper said, dully. Scipio, leaving. Somehow, he had never foreseen that, had never considered it. They'd talked of leaving, back then when they had no choice, and Mosca always talked of leaving to find his father--Riccio stating he would come along--but Prosper had never really taken any of that talk seriously. He knew it was possible, of course. He and Bo had done it themselves, after all, and he didn't think his friends any less capable, but for some reason he never thought any of them would actually do it. This was Venice, after all, and this was their home. 

"I've decided we should all go to Scipio's tomorrow and have a good talk with him," announced Hornet. "Tell him he can't do it, he can't leave. He can't just go off and leave us behind." She pierced him with a direct stare. "You in?"

"Of course," he nodded.

"I've already sent word to Mosca and Riccio," she said. "We'll go in the morning. Early, so Bo doesn't catch us."

 

 

He was pleased to realize that he hadn't lost all of those skills he learned during Bo's and his trip to Venice. He could still move so quietly that he was able to leave the house without waking anybody else, blend into the shadows so no one noticed him as he maneuvered through the tiny streets to the building that housed Scipio's tiny quarters.

He'd tried to sleep but couldn't. If he knew anything about the Thief Lord, it was that Scipio tended to make snap decisions and then act upon them without thought. It was all very well for Hornet to have a plan, to decide to wait for reinforcements and perhaps prepare a speech, but Prosper didn't trust Scipio to stay put long enough to hear it.

"You really shouldn't be skulking about at this hour."

Prosper almost jumped at the sudden voice behind him. He turned around to find the Thief Lord behind him, smirking.

"If I remember correctly, I owe a great deal of my skulking experiences to time spent in your company," he said.

"Ah, but you did it in my company," pointed out the Thief Lord, "which is a very different thing from skulking about alone." He looked around. "Is Bo with you? Do Ida and Hornet know you're out of the house?"

"Did I ever tell you that I really find it infuriating when you act like the stuffiest grown-up in the universe?" Prosper snapped. "Let me remind you, you are not now nor have you ever been my father. I would never have let you get on that carousel if I'd known this was how you were going to turn out."

Mentioning the carousel was a mistake. Prosper could actually see the Thief Lord's smirk disappear, his carefree stance become stiff and distant. "Go home, Prop," Scipio said. Scipio tried to walk past Prosper but Prosper blocked his way.

"No. I want to talk to you," Prop said.

"Well, I  _don't_  want to talk to you," said Scipio, and this time succeeded in walking past Prosper.

Prosper simply followed, undeterred. "And because you're the grown-up you make all the decisions, is that it?"

"Stop that," gritted Scipio.

"Stop what?" demanded Prosper. 

"Stop saying 'grown-up' like that, like it's a nasty word." They'd reached Scipio's building and Prosper ducked under Scipio's arm to get in through the security door. Scipio glared but short of physically throwing Prosper out and waking up his neighbors, which Prosper knew he wasn't going to do, couldn't stop him.

"I hate that word," Prosper said. "Ever since--"

"Just go home, Prosper," said Scipio. "I don't want to talk to you."

"You've made that very clear this past year," Prosper said. "I'm tired of it."

"We can talk tomorrow," Scipio said, almost desperately, as they reached the door of his quarters.

Prosper shook his head. "Now." 

Scipio sighed and opened the door. 

He led Prosper into the small, painfully neat apartment.  _Figures,_ Prosper thought, shaking his head. Scipio walked to the small utility kitchen, gestured for Prosper to sit at the small table. 

"All right," Scipio said. "What was so important that it couldn't wait?"

Now that he was here Prosper didn't really know what he was doing here, what he really wanted. 

"Are you really leaving?" he asked.

Scipio hesitated. "Yes."

"Why?" 

"I always wanted to travel," said Scipio, "you know that."

Prosper shook his head. "I do, but..." He shook his head, helplessly. "I didn't know you planned to do it alone."

Scipio shrugged. 

"Are you planning to take Mosca and Riccio with you?"

Scipio shrugged again.

"What about the rest of us? Hornet? Me and Bo? Are you just going to leave us behind?"

The Thief Lord looked away. "I asked you once," he said, quietly, "to come with me. You were the one who chose not to."

Prosper threw up his hands in exasperation. "Is that what you're angry about? I thought you understood! I couldn't--"

"I did understand," interjected Scipio. "I do."

"Then why are you still so angry at me?"

"I'm not angry," denied the Thief Lord.

"Not angry?" Prosper demanded. "So, what, you just hate me for no reason?"

Scipio looked surprised, then shook his head forcefully. "I don't hate you." 

"You refuse to talk to me," Prosper growled. "Half of the time you won't even _look_ at me! And now you're leaving, and I bet you weren't even planning to tell us, to say goodbye. If Hornet weren't such an eavesdrop, we wouldn't even have known--"

"I'm not angry," insisted Scipio. "I don't hate you."

"Then what?" Prosper was shouting now. "Talk to me, for heaven's sake!"

"I can't talk to you, dammit!" Scipio shouted back. He caught his breath and slumped back into his chair. "Don't you understand, Prop?" he asked, quietly. "Things are different now. I  _can't_  talk to you."

"Because you're a goddamn grown-up now?" fumed Prosper.

"Yes!" snarled the Thief Lord. "Because I am a grown-up and you are a child. Because I am trying to be a  _good_  grown-up and you are making it very  _very_  hard for me."

"What?" 

Scipio laughed, suddenly, self-mockingly. "You're right," he admitted. "I can't even look at you, you're right. Do you want to know why? I can't look at you because every time I do all I can think about is how beautiful you are."

"What?" Prosper blinked, dumbfounded. Scipio's tone had shifted so suddenly, from anger to something akin to wistfulness. Prosper wished Scipio would stop confusing him this way. "I'm not beautiful," he said. "Or pretty."

Scipio shook his head, smiling ruefully. "You're lovely," he said, quietly. "You always were. Lovely and fierce, the way I always pretended to be, with your eyes and your hair and you holding your brother like he was a treasure, glaring at me like I was some unwashed ruffian who had stolen into your stronghold. I wasn't thinking all this consciously, you understand, not then. But that's what I was thinking, somewhere. I didn't realize that until after the carousel." He laughed again. "So you see, dear boy, I can't talk to you. I can't spend time with you, I can't even  _look_  at you. If there's anything I regret about going on that carousel, it's that I didn't think to tell you these things back then. It's too late now. Now, I can't tell you these things, I can't even  _think_  these things and not have them be  _wrong._  We made our choices, you and I. That night. You chose to stay a child and I should let you. And the only way I can do that, dear Prosper, is to be the best grown-up I can be, even if it kills me. You see now why I have to leave?"

"No," said Prosper. "I still don't. Why didn't you tell me all this, back then?"

"Would it have made a difference?" Scipio asked.

"I... I don't know."

"I was afraid," Scipio said. "I thought, perhaps, that it would be easier to say after we'd both gone on the carousel." Another self-mocking laugh. "I was so sure you would come with me, that you wanted the same thing."

"What thing was that?" Prosper asked, softly.

"I was so desperate that night," Scipio responded. "So desperate to grow up. It wasn't only that my Uncle was coming to take me away, the way your Uncle and Aunt were planning to take Bo away. It wasn't only that I was feeling helpless, that I could not stop him from hurting me. It was that, as I had been, or so I thought, I couldn't protect you."

"What?" Prosper asked again. 

"You proved me wrong, you know," Scipio continued. "I thought I had to be a grown-up to do anything, to be able to protect those I cared about. But you did it, you protected Bo without having to do what I did, you stayed as you were, as you are." He half sighed, half laughed. "And now I am one of them, a grown-up, and instead of protecting you I am very afraid I will only end up hurting you."

It was the hour, thought Prosper, and because he was so tired. Or maybe because this was Venice and here sometimes what was real made no sense at all. "You hurt me already," he said, quietly. "I thought... You went so easily. You left me behind, too. That's what I thought, watching you walk away. It's what you're asking me to do again."

Scipio looked remarkably young and confused. "I did it because I didn't want to leave you behind, to lose you. I thought there was no other way. He would have taken me away, my Uncle, with my Father's blessings, and I would never have seen any of you again." He stopped, then said, "I would never have seen  _you_  again."

"You don't know that," Prosper said. "You could have--"

Scipio shook his head. "You were leaving, too," he said. "Even if I had... even if I had managed to escape, find my way back, you would have been gone. I could see it in your eyes, you were ready to bolt. You were already planning your escape, determined that your Uncle and Aunt would never take your brother away from you. You would have gone and I was going to lose everything." 

"But now you're going anyway," said Prosper, "and this time you didn't even ask me to come with you."

"I can't," said Scipio. "Not now."

Prosper nodded. "I did want the same thing," he told Scipio, softly. "I was tempted, how much you'll never know. But Bo--"

"I would never have asked you to leave him," Scipio said. "I would never have asked that of you. I merely thought it would be easier to care for him if--"

"No," Prosper interrupted in turn. "It wasn't that. I'm trying to explain. About me and Bo. Bo doesn't remember our Dad, but I do. I remember him leaving. I knew Bo didn't need a dad because he's never had one. He does know Dad left, though, and if you ask him he thinks he remembers Dad leaving. And then Mom was gone. Being left behind, you can't know how much it hurts. Or maybe you can, I don't know. I already knew it would hurt, you leaving me behind. But I knew I could take it, I'm used to it. But I didn't want that for Bo. I don't want him to ever be left behind again." Now Prosper was the one to look away, suddenly shy. "You see, I didn't let you go alone because I wanted to remain a kid. The truth is, I don't think I've been one for a very long time, since my dad left, at least. It wasn't about me staying a kid, it was about Bo getting the chance to be one." He looked at Scipio, finally, willing the Thief Lord to return his gaze. "Don't leave," he said. "Stay here. Stay with me."

"I can't," said the Thief Lord.

"You can," insisted Prosper. He took a deep breath, because his next words were going to be heavy ones and he could hear his heart pounding in his chest, despite all his efforts to remain outwardly calm. He took Scipio's hand in his, ignoring the Thief Lord's gasp and attempt to pull away. "Do you remember," he continued, quietly, "what the Compte said, when you told him you didn't want to be a child anymore?"

Scipio nodded, slowly, cautiously. "He said, 'Nature will grant you your wish soon enough'."

"You may be a grown-up now, you may have left me behind," Prosper said, "but I'll be sure to catch up, one day." He leaned over and kissed the Thief Lord softly, then smiled. "Maybe sooner than you think."

 

 

 

 

# the end #  
JCSA © 2007


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